


imagine it's a warning sign

by nowayout



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Foreshadowing, Holding Hands, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Pre-Slash, The Scorch Trials Spoilers, Thomas's Everest-sized guilt complex, so much foreshadowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4847066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowayout/pseuds/nowayout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s enough, Tommy.”</p>
<p>Yeah, Thomas thinks. It really is.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>[aka my take on the bonfire scene 2.0]</p>
            </blockquote>





	imagine it's a warning sign

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm still upset that scene wasn't in the movie and this is the only way I know how to cope.  
> Also, spoilers. Spoilers everywhere. Don't read if you haven't seen TST yet.  
> Title stolen from Luke Sital-Singh's extremely beautiful and absolutely heartbreaking "Benediction".

 

“That’s enough, Tommy.”

 

Yeah, Thomas thinks. It really is.

 

He wants to get up, maybe offer a tiny put-on smile that would most likely distort his face in a grimace because he has to at least _try_ , but he stays right where he is, sitting cross-legged with his back to the others, and doesn’t look up at Newt. After a minute in which neither of them speaks, he notices Newt crouch and then sit next to him, his profile illuminated by the fire behind them where the rest are huddled like small children, talking quietly enough that their words can’t be heard from here.

 

Thomas keeps his mouth shut. From the corner of his eye he can see Newt turning towards him, leaving no room for doubt about his intention to talk, but Thomas really doesn’t feel like talking right now.

 

WCKD hiding the truth from them is so far from being surprising at this point that Thomas can’t find it in himself to feel angry about being lied to once more. What he does feel, what makes his hands shake and his head throb and his heart thud painfully, is unrelenting hatred and disgust for their methods, for the way they treat the unassuming teenagers caught in their sick experiment and, most of all, for making them believe they were all immune, that they had a real chance to survive without –

 

It’s what hurts the most. To be lulled into a false sense of security, certain that there’s a limit to how bad things can get because they have _something_ inside of them that will protect them, only to discover the truth the hard way, with tears and anguished pleas and half-spoken goodbyes and the sound of a gunshot.

 

It was just another way to break them, he knows. And it almost worked. But they’re still running, stubbornly hanging onto life and refusing to let freedom slip through their fingers without a fight.

 

_We get out now or we die trying._

 

Thomas snorts. His battle cry still applies, he thinks hysterically, maze or no maze. They haven’t managed to escape, not yet, not ever if they don’t do something to stop WCKD before –

 

With a jolt, he remembers what he promised Minho, what he promised all of them without even realizing, what Winston asked of him before he –

 

Thomas feels like he’s about to throw up. He’s supposed to look after them, it was his idea to run away and they all followed him and it’s been only a day and Winston is _dead_ and he still has no plan, has no clue where they’re going or what to expect in this nightmare of a wasteland, Newt was right, he doesn’t –

 

“Stop it.”

 

The sharpness of Newt’s voice takes Thomas by surprise, making him turn his head so fast he gets a little dizzy. At the same time, he thinks he should have expected this.

 

He’s pretty sure that Newt is mad at him even though he doesn’t really understand why. It’s strange and confusing and Thomas hates it, because Newt was the one who supported and believed in him before anyone else did, but now it seems like he doesn’t trust Thomas anymore and Thomas doesn’t know what he did wrong or how to fix it.

 

So maybe he isn’t entirely surprised that Newt snaps at him again, but it hurts all the same until he takes in Newt’s eyes, wide and dark as ever, glinting with something that has Thomas swallowing back shushing noises and makes his stomach swoop uncomfortably.

 

He’s never seen Newt like this. He doesn’t know him as anything other than strong and determined and self-sufficient. Newt didn’t back down from fighting Grievers, didn’t hesitate to take a WCKD employee hostage if it meant helping Thomas with the escape plan, even if he himself wasn’t convinced it would work, was the only who dared to give Winston what he asked for. He quietly led them through the Scorch after saying goodbye, limping but never complaining, as if he was trying to make a point, to remind them that they had to keep going no matter how hard it seemed.

 

Now, though – now he looks like he’s on the brink of a breakdown and Thomas desperately wishes he knew what to do to make things better. He opens his mouth, ready to mumble encouragements that would undoubtedly sound empty, but Newt beats him to it.

 

“Stop blaming yourself,” he says; demands, really, although his voice wavers a little.

 

Thomas closes his mouth with an audible clack.

 

“Thought _you_ were blaming me,” he whispers furiously before he can stop himself, feeling hurt and disappointed and insecure in a way that reminds him of that first day in the Glade before he got to talk to Newt at the bonfire. He instantly wishes he hadn’t said a thing when he notices how Newt’s frown deepens and his lips curve down.

 

Sighing miserably, Newt scoots closer until one of his bent knees digs slightly into Thomas’s thigh. He shakes his head. “Could never blame you, Thomas, I know s’not your fault. I guess I just – I wanted to believe it was over, you know?” He shrugs in seeming nonchalance, but the corners of his mouth turn up into the saddest smile Thomas has ever seen. “I really wanted it to be over.”

 

Another wave of guilt hits Thomas when he understands the meaning of Newt’s words, wild and desperate, a giant freight train in motion, full speed ahead. The memories are still blurry, shrouded in darkness and noise and the bluish light of the laboratory, but Thomas remembers enough. Newt is wrong this time, it actually is his fault. No matter what he believes now, at one point he worked for WCKD, supported their cause. Agreed to erase the memories of his friends and signed their death sentence. How could it not be his fault?

 

Next to him, Newt lets out another tired sigh, but his voice is soft when he speaks. “I’m saying this for the last time, Thomas. What you did back then, with them, to us – it doesn’t matter anymore. Stop beating yourself up over it and think about what we can do now. We have to keep going, Tommy. Reach the mountains, find the Right Arm, do whatever it takes to escape WCKD once and for all.” He pauses, like he needs to brace himself for what he’s about to say next. When he speaks again, he sounds sensible and calm instead of wistful. “A lot of our friends died for us to get this far. We can’t give up.”

 

Thomas tries to say _I know, you’re right_ and _I’m sorry_ and _please tell me you still believe in me_ , but fear and remorse and fire are clogging up his throat, pushing his words somewhere deep in his stomach where they burn his insides like poison. He can barely look Newt in the eye, can’t open his mouth to say a damn thing, can’t reassure Newt or convince himself that they will be able to find a way to save themselves. All he can do is reach out, grab Newt’s hand and intertwine their fingers, and hope that’s enough for now.

 

Without missing a beat, Newt squeezes his hand and moves closer again until they’re pressed together from shoulder to hip, thighs brushing when they both stretch out their legs. Thomas wonders just how touch-starved they all are, how long it has been since any of them last received a gentle touch meant to soothe and comfort and show affection. Then he remembers that he too is responsible for the fact that the past three years of his friends’ lives had been void of tenderness. He tightens his grip on Newt’s hand.

 

“I should probably thank you again, Tommy,” Newt says out of the blue, his tone soft and a little shy.

 

When Thomas realizes what Newt is talking about, he immediately starts shaking his head. “No, you don’t,” he says firmly, eyebrows furrowed as he gives Newt what he hopes is a solemn look instead of a pleading one. “You really don’t.”

 

He doesn’t want Newt to think he owes him or anything ridiculous like that. If anything, Thomas is the one who should have been more careful and kept in mind that Newt can’t run as fast as the rest of them, that sometimes he needs to be looked after too. Without even meaning to, he flashes back to Newt’s cry, to his horror-struck eyes; to the way his own body had reacted, his heart hurting like it was wrapped in barbed wire, and how he ran back even while his head was screaming at him to keep running forward. It was instinctive, going back to help Newt. There was no reasonable explanation, because Thomas hadn’t stopped for a second to assess the situation, he had just – reacted. Ran back, kicked the Crank off, pulled Newt up and held onto him with trembling, unrelenting hands.

 

He remembers Newt’s deep voice, scared like Thomas had never heard it before. Remembers _thanks, Tommy_ , and holding onto Newt’s shirt and pushing Newt behind him, trying to shield him as much as he could. Remembers feeling Newt’s fingers pressing hard into his arms even through the material of his jacket and, stupidly, thinking _when did you start calling me Tommy_ , because somehow that seemed unusually important even in that moment as they were running for their lives.

 

He realizes then, as he recalls how much the possibility of losing Newt terrified him, that if he doesn’t pull himself together to lead the others to safety he might actually lose them. There would be no one else to blame but him and his inability to let go of his guilt and focus on what they still have instead of what is gone.

 

Feeling braver and more self-assured than he has in a while, holding hands with a boy for the first time in his life for all he knows, he makes a silent promise to himself and all the others that they won’t lose anyone else. That they will stick together, fight together, and survive.

 

“We’ll be okay,” he tells Newt, giving his hand another squeeze. “We’ll make it out alive, believe me.”

 

Newt nods. He looks down at their joined hands, his rosy lips curving up into a genuine smile, and says, “I believe you, Tommy.”

 

~

 

(Later, and it feels like it’s been lifetimes instead of only a few hours, when he comes to and finds Teresa and Minho grinning down at him, he doesn’t even dare to breathe until he notices Newt sitting on the arm of the small decrepit couch. Still a little wobbly from the drug, he stumbles over to Newt, infinitely relieved to see him there, unharmed save for a couple of scratches and ready to make sarcastic remarks.

 

Newt is fine. He’s safe. He isn’t –

 

Of course he isn’t. He’s immune. He has to be.

 

Thomas blames his hallucination on his paranoia, on his crippling fear of losing – everyone. Newt in particular, maybe. He doesn’t understand why he saw what he saw, doesn’t want to understand either, doesn’t want to keep worrying about it because it wasn’t real.

 

Still, as he takes in the cut on Newt’s cheek, his dark brown eyes, his blessedly human appearance, and then remembers what the drug made him imagine, he can’t help but gaze at Newt longer than he should and think fiercely, _that will not be you. I will make sure that will never be you._ )


End file.
